


Know You Shattered

by foggynite



Series: Know You [2]
Category: GetBackers
Genre: Blind Character, Caretaker Toshiki, Juubei POV, Juubei is ill, M/M, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Self-Doubt, Sick Fic, Threesome - M/M/M, spoilers for the anime series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29991345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggynite/pseuds/foggynite
Summary: Juubei never asks for help.
Relationships: Fuuchouin Kazuki/Kakei Juubei/Uryuu Toshiki
Series: Know You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206101





	Know You Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to FFN on Jul 26, 2004.

The first thing you realize is that you're alone in a bed large enough for three, then that the rest of your rundown flat is quiet. Loud voices from the street below rise again, angry but not violent yet, and that must be what woke you up. Your head is throbbing in time with your heart and your mouth is dry enough to be painful. You have a vague recollection of Kazuki leaning over you that morning, hair tickling your cheek, telling you to stay in bed.

The room is stuffy, warm and humid and the air clings to your skin uncomfortably. You try to kick off the blankets, but you realize they're already gone and your sleeping pants are twisted up around your knees. The smothered feeling must be coming from sunlight through the window. You probably rolled over to the side that has full exposure in the afternoon. Even your pillow is hot.

A groan escapes you as you struggle to get up, but no one is home to witness it. You frown anyway. Sitting up sends the blood rushing to your aching head and you freeze as your hearing is muffled, overwhelmed by a high-pitched drone. When the pain fades and the sounds of the apartment complex return, you gingerly raise yourself from the sleeping pallet. A wracking cough doubles you over as you climb to your feet.

It frustrates you that your needles can't make this trifling bout of flu go away. You're in no shape to protect Kazuki like this, but at least Toshiki is back now to accompany him on patrol. Back where he belongs, and you never thought you could have all this again. But it's more than you ever had before, and part of you is waiting for it to end. Endings are inevitable in your world.

You stumble into the archway separating the two rooms and curse, rubbing your shoulder with one hand while keeping the other firmly locked on the wall.

When you first toured the flat, Toshiki proudly listed the amenities to an excited Kazuki and you had wondered what it actually looked like. All those little details you'll never know. You had waited until the other two men left to get the rest of the supplies before you carefully—so carefully—counted out the steps from corner to corner, wall to wall, the length of the two main rooms, how wide the archway separating them was, the size of the bathroom. You had let your hands trail along the walls, feeling for tell-tale imperfections that might one day serve to fix your position. You memorized the place that would be your home and your fortress while the three of you worked with Makubex and Masaki to restore order to the Infinite City.

There's a raised floorboard right before the pile of large pillows that serve as the couch. You carefully shuffle your feet forward trying to find it, too tired to be graceful, and still you trip when your foot hits it. You barely manage to keep your balance, head pulsing, and you think that maybe, maybe, you'll just sit for a second. Your joints ache as you sink onto the nearest pillow, head hanging in defeat.

It's days like this that tempt you to regret surviving the showdown with Kazuki. You regret that you betrayed him in the first place every day, without question, but perhaps an honorable death would have been preferable to this damaged state of living. Part of you prevented a killing blow because you realized the distress it would cause your beloved. The other part, the one that sometimes whispers it was better to die, sees this as your penance. Your punishment for doubting him. For letting him leave so easily to begin with.

Normally, you're able to hide any self-doubt resulting from your blindness behind your renewed devotion to protecting the man—men—you love. If you train hard enough, keep yourself sharp enough, keep yourself able to function—then the disability isn't a cause for depression. You despise any weakness in yourself and you will not succumb to self-defeating thoughts. You have a purpose, a goal, and nothing can keep you from it. Kazuki was the one to remind you of that, when you had almost given up hope of being a worthy companion for him again.

But days like these, when something minor you used to be able to ignore renders you completely useless... These days try your resolve and your strength of character. It's hard not to lie in bed and blame your own stupidity. If you hadn't blinded yourself, you would be out providing Kazuki back up at this very moment. If you weren't so frail, you would be keeping Toshiki from inflicting massive amounts of property damage and maiming people. You would be protecting Makubex and Sakura, Ren and all the innocent mugenjou inhabitants that are just trying to eke out a living here.

The frustration tears at you and compels you to crawl to your feet. A little cold isn't going to defeat you. You will be stronger than that. You will.

The resolve lasts you until the kitchen counter, which is moving beneath your hands. Your arms are shaking with the effort of holding yourself up, and your knees buckle slowly. You rest on the floor, back pressed against the cabinets, and are decidedly proud of the progress you've made since waking. Then your mind points out that it's taken you almost half an hour just to cross the tiny apartment and your spirits flag again.

A wet cough tears out of your lungs, ripping up your throat, and you draw your knees up to your chest, miserably curling around them. You hate being sick.

Heavy footsteps echo in the hallway, a familiar tread. You weigh the odds of whether you can get to a standing position without puking before Toshiki makes it in the door, and sigh resignedly. There's no way.

You hear the sharp click of a key in the lock, then the slide of the bolt turning over. The metallic ping of Toshiki's ring as he grips the doorknob. The resistance in the hinge that needs to be oiled. Sounds you've heard every day for the past eight weeks, and they're indelibly filed away in your head.

You're surprised when the footsteps become almost noiseless, as though Toshiki is making a rare conscious effort to be quiet, but you can still hear the rustle of his clothes, the chime of his earring. There's the soft crinkle of a plastic bag being set on the wobbly table, and the muffled jingle of his key ring. You try to stifle another cough, keeping your head buried in the arms around your knees, but it comes out as a chuff anyway. The movements on the other side of the room stop.

You can almost feel the weight of his gaze on you, the exasperated expression you know he's wearing, and the soft sigh he releases confirms it. His steps are still light, but now the floorboards creak under his weight. His presence stops in front of you, and he crouches down. A gentle touch pries your arms from your legs, then guides your head up by the chin.

His fingers are heavenly on your skin as he skates them across your brow, wiping the sweat away and smoothing your frown. A cool cheek is pressed to your forehead as he cradles your skull behind your ears, softly rubbing. The delicate contact relieves some of the pain in your back and neck, while leaving you faintly dizzy with its absence.

"Idiot." Whispered against the bridge of your nose. "Your fever's worse. You shouldn't be out of bed."

You try to deny it, but no sound comes out of your throat. Your sinuses are swollen, so you just try to breathe. You bite back a moan of protest when he takes his hands away.

He stands up and walks back to the table, rummaging in the plastic bag. There's the snap of hard plastic and the sound of a cap being twisted off. When he comes back and kneels next to you, he places a cold drink bottle in your hand and actually steadies it for you as you sip carefully.

"Where's—" You croak once you've moistened your throat.

"He's meeting with Masaki and Teshimine, so you're stuck with me."

His tone is mocking, but you shake your head anyway to deny his words. You know he understands what you mean. He releases another sigh and cards his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp. Two months ago, you would never have believed him capable of tenderness towards you—You once thought him capable of loving only Kazuki—But the angry wall he always kept between you has been crumbling steadily.

"What are we going to do with you, Juubei-kun?" It's obviously a rhetorical question so you let your head drop to your chest. You don't bother moving when you hear him break the seal on another bottle.

"C'mon, wake up," he prompts, nudging at your leg nearest him. "The doc sent over some nasty crud for the cough, and Kazu-chan's picking up your antibiotics on his way home."

"I don't need drugs," you rasp, determined to keep at least a little bit of dignity. Bad enough he found you on the floor...

His exhalation is genuinely frustrated. "You have bronchitis, idiot. And some sort of sinus infection thingy. I don't want to get sick and neither of us want Kazu-chan getting ill. So you're going to drink this sludge, and then we're going to throw your sorry carcass back in bed, where you'll stay until you don't look like a corpse. Got it?"

A small medicine cup is placed in your hand, gently despite his harsh tone. You're glad you couldn't smell the stuff as you knock it back because a foul taste crawls up your throat as the medicine burns its way down. Even a rigidly trained warrior such as yourself can't be blamed for grimacing and almost gagging on it.

"I know, I know. You hate to swallow." Toshiki chuckles, show of temper forgotten, and you glower weakly because you can hear him leering. "You're such a baby. Here, wash the taste out."

You accept the proffered drink bottle quietly. This teasing side of him is still new to you. Before, you would watch him laughing with Kazuki and feel just a little slighted, because it was something they shared that you wished you knew how to. Having him be so at ease with you now, though, makes you think you should have been jealous back then. He was never as solemn as you—he's too passionate for that—but you never realized how... muted his anger had made him around you.

Now you know when he's smiling even though you can't see, because he's just so vibrant. Not effusively so, and not in Kazuki's gentile way, but rather with this burning intensity. This concentrated energy that you can feel focusing on you. It sparks something different in you than Kazuki's does, but you appreciate it just the same.

The cough syrup is making you sluggish. You don't realize you released the drink bottle until you hear Toshiki twisting the lid back on. He gives a grunt of effort as he hauls you to your feet, slinging your arm over his shoulders when you sway dangerously. He's the only person you know who's taller than you, even if it is by an inch.

He practically has to carry you across the apartment, and you feel slightly foolish for leaving the bed. Warmth on your skin lets you know you're in the bedroom area, and also that it's still early in the day. Maybe three or four in the afternoon. You don't waste the energy to ask Toshiki the time.

A sense of vertigo overcomes you as he lowers you to the bed, crouching next to you. Gratefully, you rest your pleasantly numbing head on the pillow, not caring anymore if it's warm. The ankles of his leather boots creak as he shifts to stand, but you capture the wrist of the hand still touching you. He freezes, but doesn't say anything, and all you can do is give a small tug. You know he understands what you're asking, because you can feel his smile on you.

With a groan that's not nearly as put out as he's trying to pretend, he sits on the edge of the mattress and removes his boots. You lie still as he crawls over you to the middle of the bed, springs squeaking while he gets comfortable spooning himself behind you. His arm drapes over your waist, his cool lips press against the back of your neck. You finally relax completely.

"If I get sick," he murmurs into your skin, "You're going to wait on me hand and foot, you hear?"

You smile, because you would, willingly.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://jrocci.tumblr.com/)


End file.
